Kapara
by musicnotes093
Summary: Winter has always been a symbol of loss, of weakness, of withering away and ultimately, of death. Schmeil once told me that that notion is wrong. Although it seems like all has been lost to an ethereal force that comes inevitably, hope is still alive—only that it couldn't be seen by our eyes. Episode Tag to Shiva. Part Two of Two in series.


**Title:** "Kapara"  
**Rating**: FR13  
**Genre:** Drama, Episode Tag, Friendship, Fluff  
**Pairing(s):** McGiva friendship, but it can be interpreted as something more.  
**Summary:** Winter has always been a symbol of loss, of weakness, of withering away and ultimately, of death. Schmeil once told me that that notion is wrong. Although it seems like all has been lost to an ethereal force that comes inevitably, hope is still alive—only that it couldn't be seen by our eyes. _Episode Tag to Shiva._  
**Notes:** Part Two of Two in the Shabbat Shalom tags. According to different sources, 'kapara' means "atonement, expiation, penance."  
**WARNING:** Season 10 spoilers.

* * *

Winter has always been a symbol of loss, of weakness, of withering away and ultimately, of death. Schmeil once told me that that notion is wrong. Although it seems like all has been lost to an ethereal force that comes inevitably, hope is still alive—only that it couldn't be seen by our eyes. He said that the snow that falls out of the darkened clouds actually feeds the sleeping earth. They melt as the sun comes out, ever so slowly, and the drops of water trickling down the soil is what strengthens the trees and the flowers that will surely bloom as spring time comes.

Hope is still alive—only that it couldn't be seen by our eyes.

Yet, I find it rather hard to believe. Perhaps it is because I am blindsided by too much loss, too much contained weakness, and too much death that I do not see this snowfall ever ending. It has stayed longer than it should, because my mind is numb of any other thoughts besides the chill slithering through my bones and my veins. My heart is well dead and frozen. I feel, not grief, but anger as I look upon the stagnant flow of the dark river, the same boisterous one of before next to where my father and I spoke several eternities ago.

The eastern winds blow slightly past. I shiver, but it is out of rage that burns into a blue flamed revenge.

I am aware that retaliation does not bear a desirable fruit. It causes only division, despair and solitude. I know this from my father's experience. He had built his life around it; even fed and raised his family in the pursuit of it. But I am my father's daughter. He was the only family I had, the only connection I had with the past, when Ari, Tali and I were the happiest, and perhaps the only link I had to my future.

They had taken it away from me. My hands are empty. Did they not know that they ought not to play against a person who has nothing to lose?

Still, I made a promise. I know he would not desire that I follow his footsteps and throw away this new life that had given me a semblance of what should be normal. Neither would Ima want to find me chained down with such great wrath. So I planted an olive tree to remind me of another road I could always take, where there would be life and hope, peace and promises fulfilled at the end of it. I may not know where to start or how to get there, but at least there was another choice should I become weary of the load that weighs me down.

This had been the thought that I find comfort in as I sleep at night.

"Ziva?"

McGee stands beside the bench I am sitting at, his head tilted and his brows slightly wrinkled under his hat. His face lights up when he saw me, which must mean that he failed to notice how his presence caught me unaware. I conceal my surprise by smiling back. "McGee."

"Hi," he sits down beside me. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"You missed me?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes. "Does Tony talk a lot?"

We both laugh, and it makes me glad to have come back home.

"So, how was the trip? How's Israel? You're not still jetlag, are you?"

"Which of those questions would you like me to answer first?"

"Oh," he grins to himself. "Sorry. I'm talking your ears off already."

"No, you're not," I answer him honestly, because I do find his cheerfulness quite refreshing. "It's good."

"It's good?"

"It's good."

"Okay," he says.

"As a matter of fact," I say, "the trip was very…enlightening."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I learned a lot of things. About me, about my father."

He nods, but his eyes are downward. He wants to tell me something that will make me feel better, but he is lacking the proper sentiments to speak with. Above all, he doubts his tactfulness. He has heart full of compassion to give me, I know, but as he ever does, he underestimates his ability.

He does not know his being there is sufficient for me.

"Israel was as it was the last time I was there," I continue instead, "maybe even worse. I visited Aunt Neti at Tel Aviv."

"How's the weather?" I hear him ask.

"Freezing," I answer. "Tel Aviv can be cruel during winter at times."

"Ah."

"I am not feeling that jetlagged. I am too occupied with certain things, certain thoughts, to even worry about the trip."

He nods again. He is silent for a while before asking, "How was the arrangement? If you don't mind me asking."

I draw a breath. "More elaborate than I wanted it to be," I reply. "I, ah…Mossad wanted to honor my father greatly. There were a lot there who viewed him as their own family. They wanted to pay their respects through helping out with the burial, and I let them. Closed casket. He never liked being stared at by others. I had an argument with some of the others, but Aunt Neti was there and—they had no choice but to back down."

I laugh as I remember my aunt yelling at a group of grown men, all skilled Mossad officers, to let me be. They were so frightened. Their faces did not show it, but the step back they took once she started her heated spiel was greatly telling.

"I have to meet her one day," McGee says.

"Hmm?"

"Your aunt." He smiles. "She seems like an interesting woman."

"You will like her," I assure him. "I have told her many things about you."

"Uh oh. How deep in trouble am I?" he jokes.

"I have told her good things about you," I tell him.

"Really?"

"Yes. Actually, she had expressed her needing to meet you."

"Sounds good," he sincerely says.

"She is a very good woman. When we were little, when my father and my mother were not around, she took care of the three of us. She loved us like her own. One time, she got upset with my father because she thought that he did not spend enough time with his children. I don't think there is ever a man that she couldn't break down. I thought he would be different, but he came home one day, and he took Tali and I for ice cream. He tried several other times, but when she moved to another city he gradually stopped trying."

I sigh. "She helped me a lot when I came home. Besides the funeral arrangements, she made sure I slept well, ate well. _Thought_ well. It got a little mentally draining when I made sure everything in our old house was taken care of."

"Taken care of?" he asks.

"I gave most of the things away. Well, actually, I sold a good number of them, including the house."

"Why?"

"There is nothing else to come back to, McGee," I answer him. "I have to let go. That's a part of letting go."

He remains mute, and it begins to irritate me. He is supposed to say that it was a good idea or that I made a good judgment, that my actions were not in vain. Instead, he asks me, "Is it?"

An ounce of the anger within me spills over to him. How could he ask me that question? He is my friend; he should be supporting my decisions. Never once had I pegged him as an insensitive man, but why change now? How could he call me out? He was not there when I watched the house I grew up in quickly become empty. He was not there when I saw those men carry out the brown divan where my father used to read to me and Tali when he could spare a few minutes. He was not there when I locked the door of my old home, knowing that I would never let myself come back though my heart was already sick for it.

Then it occurs to me that he never intended the question to harm me. Perhaps I _had_ executed those decisions faster than I could cope from making them. I was very ready to embark on the road leading to mistakes that I had failed to calculate my steps. I tripped on my first move.

This made me pity Ima, Tali, Ari, Abba and finally, myself.

I look away from him, under the pretense that I was examining the streets, when my eyes start to sting. I do not want him to see me like this. He has seen weakness when I found my father dead. That had probably cost me some of his respect already. He is a good friend. I do not want to lose him for being weak.

It surprises me when I find his hand grasping mine, his glove off and his hand bare. I risk glancing at him to find out why he has done that, only to see him gazing ahead.

McGee has instances when he does things metaphorically. Gibbs does not understand it. Tony fails to see it. I had almost ignored it, until I have learned the kind of man he is. I could not figure him out at first. Then he began to explain a few things to me, like the apple cider that he buys for me during October and the houseplants he brought to my new apartment right after I came back from Somalia.

I guess this gesture is to assure me that he is here for me. No pretending, no hiding, no questions asked.

I smile before taking my glove off and holding onto his hand.

"I care about you, you know," he says to me plainly.

"I know," I say to him.

I reach into my pocket to retrieve an object I have been holding onto for a while.

"You're not going to stab me, are you?" he eyes me warily.

"No." I hand it to him, placing it on his free hand before adding, "That is yours now."

His face is filled with wonder as he examines it. "A pocket watch?" he asks with awe.

I nod. "My father's. He bought it when I was little. A reassurance, after I got lost in a market. I remember him telling me that as long as the hands of the watch keep going, I will always be safe. I will never be sad, because he will always be with me. I am not alone as long as he had that watch."

"Why are you giving it to me?" McGee asks. "Why not Gibbs? Why not Tony?"

"What time is it?" I ask him.

He frowns but checks his watch nonetheless. "2:17 AM," he tells me.

I look at him straight in the eye. "Because at 2:16, I found out that I was not alone," she says. "Time has brought you to me. _That_ is why you have it."

He smiles, and then he nods. He understands.

The last time I stood here, I was filled with uncertainty. I did not know what my father is up to. I doubted I even wanted to know. It had not gotten any better, as he broke my heart twice over on the very next day. That winter only prolonged its stay, and it had left me numb and frozen.

Now, I am still filled with hesitation, yet there is that glimmer of spring testing out the horizon. My feet are still trekking the dangerous paths. I will find them. I may succeed. I may fail. I owe it to myself to find out.

Yet the pull of the other road has just become greater. I will not ignore it. I will not heed it for now, but maybe someday I will consider it. Because it offers safety, contentment and inseparability, all of which I desire, naturally I am gravitated towards it.

For now, although, I will keep these thoughts of forgiveness in my mind to help me sleep at night.

* * *

**Comments are welcome here!**


End file.
